


Office Romance

by elarielf



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Introspection, Lies, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 12:05:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elarielf/pseuds/elarielf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly likes Jim. He's no Sherlock, but at least he's stable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Office Romance

Molly likes Jim.

He’s not too bright, but he’s sweet and shy and cute in his way. And so eager, like a puppy. It’s adorable, really, and is this how Sherlock feels around her, no it mustn’t be because she would never be so cruel and dismissive and… oh.

He brought lunch. Salad, without dressing which makes it nearly impossible to eat, but at least he remembered the cutlery this time. If Molly were Sherlock, she’d snap at him and storm off to get her own dressing, but she isn’t. She’s Molly and Jim did try, the dear, so she smiles and stabs at the dry, bitter lettuce with her plastic fork and thanks him.

He smiles and ducks his head and he really is sweet. Even more awkward than Molly, and that’s saying something, but mostly just… sweet.

“I brought a treat,” he says, hiding a small brown bag that clearly holds two cookies, and it’s even cute that he’s trying to hide them. “I thought we could play a game…”

Another one of Jim’s childish, endearing games. Sherlock would be bored out of his skull playing with Jim, but for Molly it’s a chance to relax and take a break from the stresses of her job. Jim’s good at that, no matter what, at relaxing her.

“What game?” Entertaining or not, at least it would be a minor distraction from the nearly flavourless salad.

“I’ll start! Okay, who’s the tallest person you know?”

That’s a hard one. Molly works with men in her field, mostly, and almost all of them are taller than her. (Jim isn’t, not by much at least, like Sherlock’s friend… John something. Molly has to admit she finds that comforting.) Still, although he may not be the tallest man she knows, Molly knows exactly who pops into her head when she thinks about someone looming over her, larger than life, even giantesque.

“Sherlock Holmes.”

“You mentioned him before,” Jim says, and it’s just like him to remember things like that, little details, as if what Molly says is important to him. “Whoever he is, he must be wizard at computers, ‘cause he never calls IT for anything.”

“Oh, no, he doesn’t work here,” Molly explains. “He just… comes. And does stuff.”

Jim frowns, and the expression doesn’t look right on him. He’s always smiling, or about to smile. “So… a personal friend?”

“Not a friend, exactly…” Molly sighs. “I don’t think he does friends. And if he did…” She laughs, nervously, and Jim’s lips twitch in sympathy. “I don’t think he’d consider me one.”

“One what?”

“One… anything.” And this topic turned depressing awfully fast.

Molly nearly jumps out of her skin as Jim lays a hand on the back of hers, his palm warm and soft as he gently squeezes in reassurance. “Hey, if you want to talk about things…”

For a moment, Molly is tempted. No one’s ever really asked after her and meant it before. Even her mother frowns when Molly gives any answer that’s not completely positive, and brings up her life choices (science, research, working in a mortuary with _dead_ people, for goodness sakes) as reasons why Molly’s life isn’t perfect. But Jim seems to mean it, like he really wants to hear about her and maybe help if he can.

Like he actually cares.

But Molly’s bright enough to know that two dates and a lunch is too soon to open the pandora’s box that is Sherlock Holmes and Molly’s personal life. They haven’t even kissed yet.

…and now she’s blushing. Brilliant.

Jim’s smile warms and widens, his thumb traces small circles on Molly’s wrist, and for a single, shining moment, everything is perfect.

Yes, Jim isn’t the perfect man. But Molly’s hardly the perfect woman. But the _moment_ , the connection between them, the understanding, is more perfect than Molly could have imagined.

In that moment, she can almost see her future, _their_ future; their perfect, awkward life with perfect, awkward children. And, yes, two dates and a rather pathetic lunch (that is fast wilting, forgotten on the table between them) is _far_ too soon for thoughts like this, but Jim just… fits with her. As if he’d been created just for that purpose.

“Molly?”

Molly snaps out of it with another nervous laugh, pulling her hand out from under his to fix her hair, gathering it up and capturing it in a ponytail on her right side. Feminine, but serviceable. And certainly not to cover up an attack of the nerves. “Would you like to go out tonight? For dinner and drinks.”

Jim blinks. “Ah… aren’t I supposed to ask you?”

“Pfft, old fashioned,” Molly teases, grinning at the way Jim’s cheeks colour at that – they match now. “But if you were thinking about it… does that mean yes?”

“Yeah. I mean, yes! Please. Um… thank you.” Jim shifts, his arm jerking to almost reach out and touch Molly’s hand again, but he stops himself. “Anywhere specific in mind?”

“The Fox?” Molly says. “About six?”

“Sounds great.” Jim’s grinning now, and it looks goofy and silly and altogether charming. Is this what falling in love feels like?

The door opens, breaking the giddy tension of the moment. “Molly, go check up on Sherlock and his _shoes_ if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Right.” It’s a little sad that people just ignore Jim like that, but maybe Molly can do something about that. Make him stand out more. Somehow.

But for now she just turns to him. “Would you mind…”

“Cleaning up?” Jim’s smile is as cheerful as ever. “’Course. You just go and deal with your Sherlock.”

“Thanks.” Molly wants to be the kind of girl who could lean over and give Jim a peck on the cheek, just a token gesture of affection and gratitude for… well, for being him. But she’s not, so she turns to leave.

They’ll have other chances, after all.


End file.
